We warmly welcome you to one of the loveliest collections of bee poems. English language is filed with poems about bees. Why do we enjoy bee poems so much? Perhaps it is due to the bees’ hard work ethic and benefits we take from them.
It’s an astonishing reality that one-third of just about everything we consume is dependent on the existence of the little bee for survival. A wide range of crop production, from walnuts to melons, would immediately stop producing if bees were not there.
Bees play an important part in world biodiversity, and crop pollination is required for food for all terrestrial species, as well as certain marine creatures. Unfortunately, human activity, combined with other unknown reasons, is rapidly destroying bees.
Bees are incredible! It’s no surprise that poets over the years have been inspired and motivated to compose many poems about bees! Bees have a lot to teach us, they intrigue us, they’re gorgeous, and their value to humanity is immeasurable.
Here is a collection of bee poems from many sources regarding life lessons, bees, their importance as pollinators, and environmental challenges.
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Best Bee Poems
Honey bees are so vital to humans that they are the second most researched organism, after humans. Here are some of the best bee poems that portray our insect companion in a favorable manner.
1. Honey Bee
by Sharon Gulley
Honey Bee Honey Bee bring
by your charm. Your sweet
warmth from your swarm.
Makes us some honey as
sweet as a flower. Pile the
hive full in your golden tower.
Pancakes and muffins, and
French toast. A million ways to
eat it, I think I love your sweet
honey, the most.
Honey Bee Honey Bee, I hope
you will always want to be here.
I will wait for you with my plate
and fork and a smile full of cheer.
I’ll guard and protect you as you
weave and I hope you never ever
want to leave.
by Terri Cannan
I’m changing my name to bee. I’m busy as a bee. Cooking meals, paying the bills and then there’s the groceries.
Floors to sweep, floors to mop and the laundry too. So much to get done, always on the run. I’m busy as a bee.
I’m busy as a bee. Doctors’ appointments and physical therapy. Wash the car and fill up with gas. Taking out the trash.
Watching the clock, no time to stop. Gotta moves fast.
I’m busy as a bee. Takes my mind off of me. Life’s too short to sit in self-pity, so if I’m feeling down I guess I best get up and get busy.
3. Bee on Hibiscus
by James Horn
Bee on Hibiscus
Bee on Hibiscus
Proved to be promiscuous
Did dart in and out.
A fair assumption
After all his consumption
She is his honey.
Both were quite a pair
Nothing like a horse and mare
Who chores both will share.
Is one of them you?
Who makes all my dreams come true?
Vote for sure must do.
James Thomas Horn
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
4. The Bees
by Thomas Hastings
Oh, mother dear, pray tell me where
The bees in winter stay?
The flowers are gone they feed upon,
So sweet in summer’s day.
My child, they live within the hive,
And have enough to eat;
Amid the storm they’re clean and warm,
Their food is honey sweet.
Say, mother dear, how came it there?
Did father feed them so?
I see no way in winter’s day
That honey has to grow.
No, no, my child; in summer mild
The bees laid up their store
Of honey-drops in little cups,
Till they would want no more.
In cups, you said—how are they made?
Are they as large as ours?
Oh, no; they’re all made nice and small,
Of wax found in the flowers.
Our summer’s day, to work and play,
Is now in mercy given,
And we must strive, long as we live,
To lay up stores in heaven.
5. The Drop of Honey
by Albert Moore Longley
Sweet flowers, by light-winged zephyrs softly fanned,
By busy insects, humming o er you, scanned;
In forest glade, and on the water strand,
In loveliness ye bloom.
Alas! ye’re faded now; for Autumn’s breath
Hath swept the glade, the strand, and scattered death
On every hand, and with its frosty teeth
Hath nipped you for the tomb.
But flowers, your sweets ye’ve left behind, to cheer
The heart and feast the taste we’d shed a tear;
For like the good, whose good works still live here,
Ye fade—and droop—and die:
And though ye’re gone, there yet remains, to lure
The most fastidious, a liquid pure,
Which bursts in plenty forth, so sweet, from your
From out the fractured cell, the honey-drop
Was gushing clear, and I essayed to stop
Its downward course; so, with a hasty scoop
I caught the limpid store:
But, O within that drop there lurked, unseen,
A sting acute, and poisonous; which e’en
Did pierce my mouth; the smart how keen!
My soul cried out—no more!
Still to my smarting palate it would cling,
As ’twere exulting in the pain ‘t could bring;
Till gladly I drew forth the ruthless thing,
And ever since that day,
Careful am I, when I do honey eat,
To know if it has not a sting, to cheat
Me of the joy that s oft so passing sweet,
And dash the cup away.
Examine well the honey ere you taste;
The sweetest pleasures here, if sought in haste,
May give you pain—nay, they will often bring,
Unseen by careless eyes, a deadly sting.
by Hilda Conkling
There’s a busy hum in the farm meadow
As the bees go from daisy to clover-top
Humming, humming as the horizon clouds blow nearer,
Humming, humming on this gay June morning.
Even the vineyards are in bloom:
The grape-flower breath comes on the breeze
Something like breath of primroses that bloom in evening light
And laugh at what goes on in the world.
7. I Tell the Bees
by Jo Shapcott
He left for good in the early hours with just
one book, held tight in his left hand:
The Cyclopedia of Everything Pertaining
to the Care of the Honey-Bee; Bees, Hives,
Honey, Implements, Honey-Plants, Etc.
And I begrudged him every single et cetera,
every honey-strainer and cucumber blossom,
every bee-wing and flown year and dead eye.
I went outside when the sun rose, whistling
to call out them as I walked towards the hive.
I pressed my cheek against the wood, opened
my synapses to bee hum, I could smell bee hum.
‘It’s over, honies,’ I whispered, ‘and now you’re mine.
8. The Threshold
by Jo Shapcott
I waited all day for tears and wanted them, but
there weren’t tears. I touched my lashes and
the eye water was not water but wing and fur
and I was weeping bees. Bees on my face,
in my hair. Bees walking in and out of my
ears. Workers landed on my tongue
and danced their bee dance as their sisters
crowded round for the knowledge. I learned
the language too, those zig-zags, runs and circles,
the whole damned waggle dance catalogue.
So nuanced it is, the geography of nectar,
the astronomy of pollen. Believe me,
through my mouth dusted yellow
with their pollen, I spoke bees, I breathed bees.
9. A Prayer in Spring
by Robert Frost
Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.
Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.
And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in midair stands still.
For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfil.
10. Bee Sweet
by Donald R Wolff JR
Buzzing little honey bees-
Chasing flowers in the breeze
Swaying with them to and fro-
You move so fast and then you go
Buzz, buzz, buzz, look at me-
Just like you I am a bee
Take me with you, if you please-
Take me to your honey tree
Mother, quickly come and see-
I am a little honey bee
I can fly, look at me-
I’m flying with my friends the bees
Zooming so high in the air-
Me, the bees, without a care
Up to the moon, then back down here-
Soon bee honey, we will share
Oh, look dear friends, now I see-
I found your home, the honey tree
Yum, this honey sure tastes sweet-
Thank you, friends, for this fine treat
Mommy, Mommy come help please-
All the bees are chasing me
The selfish bees are not my friends-
I’ll never play with them again
Famous Bee Poems
With messages of optimism, inspiration, and collaboration, these famous poems about bees are guaranteed to thrill bee fans. These famous bee poems give fascinating insight into the bee’s existence and purposes, which we can all connect to in our own lives.
1. The Hive
by Jo Shapcott
The colony grew in my body all that summer.
The gaps between my bones filled
with honeycomb and my chest
vibrated and hummed. I knew
the brood was healthy, because
the pheromones sang through the hive
and the queen laid a good
two thousand eggs a day.
I smelled of bee bread and royal jelly,
my nails shone with propolis.
I spent my days freeing bees from my hair,
and planting clover and bee sage and
woundwort and teasel and borage.
I was a queendom unto myself.
2. Going About with The Bees
by Jo Shapcott
I walked to the city carrying the hive inside me.
The bees resonated my ribs: by now
my mouth was wax, my mouth was honey.
Passers-by with briefcases and laptops
stared as bees flew out of my eyes and ears.
As I stepped into the bank the hum
increased in my chest and I could tell the bees
meant business. The workers flew out
into the cool hall, rested on marble counters,
waved their antennae over paper and leather.
‘Lord directs us.’ I murmured, then felt
the queen turns somewhere near my heart,
and we all watched, two eyes and five eyes,
we all watched the money dissolve like wax.
by Jo Shapcott
My body broke when the bees left,
became a thing of bones
and spaces and stretched skin.
I’d barely noticed
the time of wing twitch
and pheromone mismatch
and brood sealed in with wax.
The honeycomb they
left behind dissolved
into blood and water.
Now I smell of sweat and breath
and I think my body cells
may have turned hexagonal,
though the bees are long gone.
4. The Sting
by Jo Shapcott
When the wild queen leads the swarm
into the room, don’t shut the door on them,
don’t leave them crawling the walls, furniture
and books, a decor of moving fuzz. Don’t go off
to the city, alone, to work, to travel underground.
The sting is no more apis mellifera, is a life
without honey bees, without an earful of buzz
an eyeful of yellow. The sting is no twin
waving antennae breaking through
the cap of a hatching bee’s cell. The sting
is no more feral hive humming in the stone
wall of the house, no smell of honey
as you brush by. No bees will follow, not one,
and there lies the sting. The sting is no sting.
5. The Worker Bees
by Beryl Ann Keuken
I’d performed my washing chores during that lovely Autumn Day.
Some clothing had been put through the ‘full cycle’, while two
of my special tops were on the line dripping away.
Later in the afternoon, wondering whether my washing
would be dry,
I went to the clothesline and was met with an unusual surprise.
Not one but three bees seemed to be attracted to my dark,
There those bees remained drawing water from
that particular spot.
I’d never been so aware of bees like this before,
and, before I knew it, then arrived bee number four.
Deciding to study the performance of bees I found out
some interesting facts.
Worker bees have different tasks to perform to keep
the hive intact.
There are bees who become ‘cleaners’ when only one
or two days old.
They clean and polish the empty cells in readiness for
new eggs for the cells to hold.
The Queen bees on the lookout to see whether
the cells are sparkling clean.
If not to her liking they’ll have to do it again!
The older bees named ‘undertakers’, also have a job to do,
to remove dead bees and dispose of their corpses too.
‘Nurses’ or ‘brood care’ bees have also a role to play,
they check a single larva over 1000 times a day.
Feeding pure royal jelly to the Queen larvae,
they also feed a mixture of pollen, honey and jelly to the drone
worker and drone larvae.
The ‘builder’ worker bees when only twelve days of age,
also have a job to perform in their home.
They produce beeswax for the construction of the comb.
Then there are the ‘temperature controller’ worker bees
who are also there to please?
Obtaining water within a short distance, they bring it back
to spread on the back of fanning bees, creating airflow
to the hive.
Each worker has a job to perform and the next one is called
Inspecting every bee that returns it senses a familiar scent;
what a great bodyguard!
The ‘foragers’, when only aged about fourteen days,
leave the nest at sunrise to visit flowers four to five kilometers
Making 10 trips per day, lasting about sixty minutes each one,
the ‘foragers’ return to their hive at sunset, their necessary tasks
have now been done.
Good and faithful workers, time has passed, you’re now six
to eight weeks old.
I thank you for a job well done and now you can die in the
field of gold!
by Maya Angelou
Your hands easy
weight, teasing the bees
hived in my hair, your smile at the
slope of my cheek. On the
occasion, you press
above me, glowing, spouting
readiness, mystery rapes
When you have withdrawn
yourself and the magic, when
only the smell of your
love lingers between
my breasts, then, only
then, can I greedily consume
7. Nature Trail
by Benjamin Zephaniah
At the bottom of my garden
There’s a hedgehog and a frog
And a lot of creepy-crawlies
Living underneath a log,
There’s a baby daddy long leg
And an easy-going snail
And a family of woodlice,
All are on my nature trail.
There are caterpillars waiting
For their time to come to fly,
There are worms turning the earth over
As ladybirds fly by,
Birds will visit, cats will visit
But they always chose their time
And I’ve even seen a fox visit
This wild garden of mine.
Squirrels come to nick my nuts
And busy bees come buzzing
And when the night time comes
Sometimes some dragonflies come humming,
My garden mice are very shy
And I’ve seen bats that growl
And in my garden, I have seen
A very wise old owl.
My garden is a lively place
There’s always something happening,
There’s this constant search for food
And then there’s all that flowering,
When you have a garden
You will never be alone
And I believe we all deserve
A garden of our own.
8. Ode to Autumn
by John Keats
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimmed their clammy cell.
Who hath not seen the oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watch the last oozings, hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, —
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir, the small gnats mourn
Among the river swallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
9. Where Is the Honey?
by Atef Ayadi
we do have many types
of bees popping up
(i am not jerking, i do not
like to mention eight. am i? but i can mention
and of course
it is a french-ized store.)
this time, our bees are all sexes and creeds.
from justin beaver
(Peace on him and for him
whether he is a life
and for fairness
in these days,
from dupa, to gaga, to bee-once-ey; female bees
a wave after another,
they are completely absent
in the west hemisphere
it i s)
has its own continental
and a lot,
allot, lots of honey.
I like Chinese honey;
I mean girls.
the other Chinese honey
is a pure corn syrup
focus on ‘bio’ fuel
you name it!
yeah, good bees;
not that match!
where is the honey?
it is better to
see it for yourself.
one can see
started to disappear
as the bee gees
so where is the honey?
better to say
what is honey?
what is more ironic,
platonic, and plutonium
we do not even
have a need for
to do the
or close ‘enough! ‘
it is boring?
yeah, i know!
I figured it out
do we do need more
on one’s dependencies
to honey and bees!
I do not like to see,
hear, or be
in front of
sponsored bey gecko.
10. The Comfort of Bees
by Ima Ryma
The flowers are the ‘ears’ of plants
Listening for the buzz of bees.
The plants take comfort in the chance
Of increased opportunities
That one or more of the bees might
Sense the plant flowers and decide
To make a change in path of flight
For the nectar that plants provide.
The plants give nectar in return
For the bees taking pollen to
Carry away in their sojourn
To other plants to help renew.
Always listening, the plant does
Anticipate sound of bees’ buzz.
Short Bee Poems
Bees occur to a great extent in poets’ writings, religious literature, ancient writings and maxims, and contemporary ideas. Here are some short bee poems that you might enjoy.
1. Bee Visitation
by Marty Owens
One Sunday in church came a bee.
Up my pants leg he sat on my knee.
I jumped from piano,
Tore pants from my torso.
Did striptease, where no one could see!
2. Poet Bee
by Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
Butterflies flit to flowers
serenity in the shade
reclined adirondack chair
a buzzzz interrupts…
Ouch, bee sting “bites me”, in pain,
I run for the cortisone.
Impossible! metered buzzzz
…off to find Cyndi!
3. SPELLING BEE
by Line Gauthier
Locked in a tiny room like a thief
Doing hard labor beyond belief
Sitting on the throne
With a groan and moan
Concentrating on spelling relief
4. Another Bee in The Hive
by Karin Edwards
I’m like Winnie the Pooh
Can’t keep My hands out the hunny
Nah, I aine making jokes
Cause it sure aine funny
But it gives A brother reason to smile
By keeping his days, All sunny
Especially, when they So hot
Until, it makes the nose runny
Got Me feeling like I’m rich
With a pocketful of money
What, you’re asking if
I see Women, as a Playboy Bunny
No, it’s just that they’re like the bees
When making Love, Sweet as honey
5. The Tax-Gatherer
by John B. Tabb
“And pray, who are you?”
Said the violet blue
To the Bee, with surprise
At his wonderful size,
In her eye-glass of dew.
“I, madam,” quoth he,
“Am a publican Bee,
Collecting the tax
On honey and wax.
Have you nothing for me?”
6. The Bee and the Blossoms
by John B. Tabb
“Why stand ye idle, blossoms bright,
The livelong summer day?”
“Alas! we labour all the night
For what thou takest away.”
7. To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee
by Emily Dickinson
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, —
One clover, and a bee,
The revery alone will do
If bees are few.
8. The Butterfly and the Bee
by William Lisle Bowles
Methought, I heard a butterfly
Say to a laboring bee;
“Thou hast no colors of the sky
On painted wings like me.”
“Poor child of vanity! those dyes,
And colors bright and rare,”
With mild reproof, the bee replies,
“Are all beneath my care.”
“Content I toil from morn till eve,
And, scorning idleness,
To tribes of gaudy sloth, I leave
The vanity of dress.”
9. The Honey-Bee
by John B. Tabb
O bee, good-by!
Your weapon’s gone,
And you anon
Are doomed to die;
But Death to you can bring
No second sting.
10. The nearest dream recedes, unrealized
by Emily Dickinson
The nearest dream recedes, unrealized.
The heaven we chase
Like the June bee
Before the school-boy
Invites the race;
Stoops to an easy clover —
Dips — evades — teases — deploys;
Then to the royal clouds
Lifts his light pinnace
Heedless of the boy
Staring, bewildered, at the mocking sky.
Homesick for steadfast honey,
Ah! the bee flies not
That brews that rare variety.
Funny Bee Poems
There are almost 20,000 different types of bees. Consider bumblebees, honeybees, miner bees, and masonry bees, to mention a few. As seen by this carefully chosen collection of funny bee poems, these insects are well-known for more than just their stinging and honey.
1. Sting Bee
by Richard Breese
I once knew a bee that could sing
It worked for a queen and a king.
But they preferred honey
And paid it no money,
So now it sings backup for Sting.
2. Daft- The Elephant and The Bumble Bee
by Gary Smith
On my walk I chanced to see
An elephant with a bumble bee.
It was such a peculiar pairing,
And they had ice cream, which they were sharing.
The elephant was holding the ice cream cone
For the bee was on his mobile phone,
I thought wow, this is really
I never get a signal here!
3. Little Bee
by Tahira Parveen
I’ve been given a fancy name for my illness
It may be contagious
Never before seen in my colony
I can’t work or lift a finger
Nice to see every one rally around me
Even the queen bee is worried
As what happened to me
Even sent the worker bees
All for one, hopefully one for all
Giving me a hand
I’m going to a special unit for unique bees.
4. Macho Bee and Lady Bird’s Jungle Fever
by Andrea Dietrich
Macho Bee had a really big stinger.
Lady Bird, when aroused, was a singer.
When they heard her loud COO,
all the wood creatures knew
that first date must have been a humdinger!
5. Kids Funny Bee Buzz Poem
by Liz Labadie-Reilly
The fuzzy, wuzzy bumble bee
a fussy, hussy bee was he
because he lost his buzz you see
in a muggy, buggy mushroom tree
On mushrooms bitter, boggy black,
he planned an aerial attack,
but bouncing, pouncing skills he lacked
and failed to get his bee buzz back.
Now this fumbling, stumbling bumble bee
searched helter, skelter frantically
for a bigger bee to help him free
his bee buzz from the mushroom tree.
But no bee ever came around,
searched high and low, tree and ground,
but his buzz was never found,
a buzzless bee without his sound.
POOR FUZZY, WUZZY BUMBLEBEE
6. Buzzing Bee
by Mckenzie Argall
My ears are buzzing
Carefully I listen
Keep still I say
Entangled is a bee
I chuckle to myself
Ending the life of the bee.
7. Bee-Witched, Bothered and Bee-Wildered
by SYLVIA Coulstock
I’ve been buzzing around for hours
In and out of the flowers
Having a grand old flit.
I’m all covered in pollen
My legs are quite swollen,
But I do enjoy doing my bit.
I’ve been under the flowers spell,
Bee-witched by their colour and their smell
But I’m a bit bothered by what’s happening to me;
My head’s going round and round
Can’t quite find the ground,
I’m bee-wildered, feel all at sea…
I’ll take just one more dip.
Then I think I’ll have a kip
Before I go home to tea…
Oo-er I’ve come over all funny,
(Hic) never mind the honey
Think I’m a drunken bum-ble bee.
8. Bee Warned
by Lindsay Laurie
One day when I ran out of money,
I knew where to get me free honey,
But forgetting one thing
That the owners do sting,
And black eyes from bee stings ain’t funny.
9. Buzzy the Bumble Bee
by Joyce Johnson
Buzzy the busy bumble bee
Has his sharp sting on aim at me?
“If you want my honey
Then show me your money.
Buzzy the bee does not work free.”
10. Mukbang- ASMR, with Little Bee
by Tahira Parveen
Mukbang Asmr- Little Bee
Enter my little abode
For a special event a “Mukbang”
So many things to eat
Toastie with tea
Chicken and chips with coke
This is so amazing,
So delightful, so tasty
Melts in the mouth
Crunching and munching away
For a busy bee like me
This is so good
Look and enjoy and take your time
To watch me eat my meal.
Bee Poems That Rhyme
Let us now go through some of the bee poems that rhyme. In general, being sluggish is not regarded as good. Our bees as well as other insects toil away, unconcerned by global issues. We should do the same and remain involved in all of our affairs with full vigor.
1. The Bee
by Emily Dickinson
Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
I hear the level bee:
A jar across the flowers goes,
Their velvet masonry
Withstands until the sweet assault
Their chivalry consumes,
While he, victorious, tilts away
To vanquish other blooms.
His feet are shod with gauze,
His helmet is of gold;
His breast, a single onyx
With chrysoprase, inlaid.
His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee’s experience
Of clovers and of noon!
by Norman Rowland Gale
That play on your
Each artist in
Bass but a
Who gave you your
Come out of my
Out of my roses
You bees with the
by Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet
And now you ask in your heart,
“How shall we distinguish that which is good in pleasure from that which is not good?”
Go to your fields and your gardens, and you shall learn that it is the pleasure of the bee to gather honey of the flower,
But it is also the pleasure of the flower to yield its honey to the bee.
For to the bee a flower is a fountain of life,
And to the flower a bee is a messenger of love,
And to both, bee and flower, the giving and the receiving of pleasure is a need and an ecstasy.
People of Orphalese, be in your pleasures like the flowers and the bees.
4. The Bee-Boy’s Song
by Rudyard Kipling
Bees! Bees! Hark to your bees!
“Hide from your neighbours as much as you please,
But all that has happened, to us you must tell,
Or else we will give you no honey to sell!”
A maiden in her glory,
Upon her wedding – day,
Must tell her Bees the story,
Or else they’ll fly away.
Fly away — die away —
Dwindle down and leave you!
But if you don’t deceive your Bees,
Your Bees will not deceive you.
Marriage, birth or buryin’,
News across the seas,
All you’re sad or merry in,
You must tell the Bees.
Tell ’em coming in an’ out,
Where the Fanners fan,
Cause the Bees are just about
As curious as a man!
Don’t you wait where the trees are,
When the lightnings play,
Nor don’t you hate where Bees are,
Or else they’ll pine away.
Pine away — dwine away —
Anything to leave you!
But if you never grieve your Bees,
Your Bees will never grieve you.
5. From Winnie-the-Pooh
by A. A. Milne
Isn’t it funny?
How a bear likes honey?
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
I wonder why he does?
6. The Arrival of the Bee Box
by Sylvia Plath’s
I ordered this, clean wood box
Square as a chair and almost too heavy to lift.
I would say it was the coffin of a midget
Or a square baby
Were there not such a din in it.
The box is locked, it is dangerous.
I have to live with it overnight
And I can’t keep away from it.
There are no windows, so I can’t see what is in there.
There is only a little grid, no exit.
I put my eye to the grid.
It is dark, dark,
With the swarmy feeling of African hands
Minute and shrunk for export,
Black on black, angrily clambering.
How can I let them out?
It is the noise that appalls me most of all,
The unintelligible syllables.
It is like a Roman mob,
Small, taken one by one, but my god, together!
I lay my ear to furious Latin.
I am not a Caesar.
I have simply ordered a box of maniacs.
They can be sent back.
They can die, I need feed them nothing, I am the owner.
I wonder how hungry they are.
I wonder if they would forget me
If I just undid the locks and stood back and turned into a tree.
There is the laburnum, its blond colonnades,
And the petticoats of the cherry.
They might ignore me immediately
In my moon suit and funeral veil.
I am no source of honey
So why should they turn on me?
Tomorrow I will be sweet God, I will set them free.
The box is only temporary.
by Sylvia Plath’s
This is the easy time, there is nothing doing.
I have whirled the midwife’s extractor,
I have my honey,
Six jars of it,
Six cat’s eyes in the wine cellar,
Wintering in a dark without window
At the heart of the house
Next to the last tenant’s rancid jam
and the bottles of empty glitters–
Sir So-and-so’s gin.
This is the room I have never been in
This is the room I could never breathe in.
The black bunched in there like a bat,
But the torch and its faint
Chinese yellow on appalling objects–
Black asininity. Decay.
It is they who own me.
Neither cruel nor indifferent,
This is the time of hanging on for the bees–the bees
So, slow I hardly know them,
Filing like soldiers
To the syrup tin
To make up for the honey I’ve taken.
Tate and Lyle keep them going,
The refined snow.
It is Tate and Lyle they live on, instead of flowers.
They take it. The cold sets in.
Now they ball in a mass,
Mind against all that white.
The smile of the snow is white.
It spreads itself out, a mile-long body of Meissen,
Into which, on warm days,
They can only carry their dead.
The bees are all women,
Maids and the long royal lady.
They have got rid of the men,
The blunt, clumsy stumblers, the boors.
Winter is for women–
The woman, still at her knitting,
At the cradle of Spanish walnut,
Her body a bulb in the cold and too dumb to think.
Will the hive survive, will the gladiolas?
Succeed in banking their fires
To enter another year?
What will they taste of, the Christmas roses?
The bees are flying. They taste the spring.
Flowers and Bee Poems
Honey bees have long held a particular place in the hearts of humans since they collect pollen from flowers and produce honey, which has been used as a medicine for ages. Here are some poems about bees and flowers that talk about this beautiful phenomenon.
1. The Flower and The Bee
by Leslie Alexis
A beautiful yellow flower
Resting in the meadows
Amongst the other flowers.
A bright yellow daffodil
At the crest of the hill
Watching over the roses
Spellbindingly stole, the eyes
Of the buzzing bee.
He liked what he saw
In this little dainty flower,
Who took her beauty from the land?
And was as radiant as the sun
Having its yellow colors too.
The happy little bee,
Flying drunkenly to her
Started to ponder –
‘She is a beautiful flower,
Placed high upon the hill,
All the other bees see her,
Would she welcome me,
To taste of her nectar? ‘
Then he continued to fly,
With other bees as passersby…
He landed on her petals
And he danced on her sepals
And he tasted of her nectar.
2. The story of the flower and the bee
I will tell you a story
In all its glory
Creating much more than
The eye can see
It’s a story about a vibrant flower
So beautiful it needs to be to attract the buzzing honey bees
The story goes something like this
So, you can see the flowers multiply through the years
Four and many more
fly’s along and sees so many Beautiful flowers
Longing to devour
But which one
So many colours
Its a big bright pink one
Circular in shape
It’s the one
Open, with so many soft small petals
Glistening with the rain drops
Shining in the sun
Sparkling with beauty from within
Makes the bee meander to thee
The bee needs to reproduce
Stops and fills
Spreads the seeds
Allowed to please
What you don’t see is the story
Combined with the
Of the extra ordinary
Of the buzzing bee
With the gold assigned
Frantically to find the
Making honey, wax, all kind of f
Made from hexagon
They divide into the lines
They are full with precious delights
The story continues
The more you learn
The more you yearn
To see a honey bee
Together the bee and the
The vibrant flower allowed to duplicate
More beauty for all to see
For all to feel
The special honey bee procreates and makes
Such a clever bee
A savont; such a worker
Buzzing madly yearning to create
the sweetest honey
A honey bee can make
It’s like you to me
You’re the combination
Make migrations in me
Spreading beauty from within
To others to proceed
I feel it with you;
Creating so much sweet honey in me
It’s a wonderful story to me
The story of the flower and the honey bee
3. Of Flowers and Bees
by Arthur Guiterman
While Honey lies in Every Flower, no doubt,
It takes a Bee to get the Honey out.
The Daisy is a Weed of little Worth —
Save that it makes a Dearer Place of Earth.
N O Dearth of Roses honest Bumble pleads,
But draws Some Sort of Honey out of Weeds.
F OR each pure Rose
That now the Bush adorns,
The patient Gardener knows
A Hundred Thorns.
4. The Flower and the Bee
by Michelle Arno
The Bee longs for the sweet nectar
Of the Flower that blooms in spring
In summer, the petals welcome them
And the Bee buzzes and sings
The Flower, inviting, unaware
That the Bee roams about
How could the Bee love another?
The Flower smiles up at the sky, without a doubt
But the Bee, you see, is dusted
Their feet stained from millions of flowers around
While the Flower remains motionless
Tethered to the ground
The Bee will see the world
Flying to and fro
But the Flower will never even dream of places
The Bee gets to go
5. How Doth the Little Busy Bee
by Isaac Watts
How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every opening flower!
How skillfully she builds her cell!
How neat she spreads the wax!
And labors hard to store it well
With the sweet food she makes.
In works of labor or of skill,
I would be busy too;
For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.
In books, or work, or healthful play,
Let my first years be passed,
That I may give for every day
Some good account at last.
Bee Poems in English
Let us now go through some of the honey bee poems in English. These bee poems discuss the value of bees as well as the risks humans face if they become extinct.
1. Constanza: The Noisy Bee
by Andrew Crisci
Gorgeous Johnny was barely three
and knew the danger of a bee
that was attracted to his fair hair!
He moved feet away, but the bee
slowly crawled up his big belly….
and he started dancing in midair!
His red face turned completely white,
fearing the noisy bee would bite,
“Almighty God, please don’t let her!”
“Someone takes this ugly bee out
out of my hair! ” He begged with fright;
get that water hose and spray her!
Poor Johnny screamed asking for help,
but the noisy bee bit his lip…
all because he ate an eclair!
2. Wild Bees
by John Clare
These children of the sun which summer brings
As pastoral minstrels in her merry train
Pipe rustic ballads upon busy wings
And glad the cotters’ quiet toils again.
The white-nosed bee that bores its little hole
In mortared walls and pipes its symphonies,
And never absent couzen, black as coal,
That Indian-like be paints its little thighs,
With white and red bedight for holiday,
Right earlily a-morn do pipe and play
And with their legs stroke slumber from their eyes.
And aye so fond they of their singing seem
That in their holes abed at close of day
They still keep piping in their honey dreams,
And larger ones that thrum on ruder pipe
Round the sweet smelling closen and rich woods
Where tawny white and red flush clover buds
Shine bonnily and bean fields blossom ripe,
Shed dainty perfumes and give honey food
To these sweet poets of the summer fields;
Me much delighting as I stroll along
The narrow path that hays laid meadow yields,
Catching the windings of their wandering song.
The black and yellow bumble first on wing
To buzz among the sallow’s early flowers,
Hiding its nest in holes from fickle spring
Who stints his rambles with her frequent showers;
And one that may for wiser piper pass,
In livery dress half sables and half red,
Who laps a moss ball in the meadow grass?
And hoards her stores when April showers have fled;
And russet commoner who knows the face
Of every blossom that the meadow brings,
Starting the traveller to a quicker pace
By threatening round his head in many rings:
These sweeten summer in their happy glee
By giving for her honey melody.
3. The Bee, Clover, and Thistle
by Hannah Flagg Gould
A Bee from her hive one morning flew,
A tune to the day-light humming;
And away she went, o’er the clear, bright dew,
Where the grass was green, the violet blue,
And the gold of the sun was coming.
And what first tempted the roving Bee
Was a head of the crimson clover.
‘I’ve found a treasure betimes!’ said she,
‘And perhaps a greater I might not see,
If I travelled the field all over.
My beautiful clover, so round and red,
There is not a thing in twenty
That lifts this morning so sweet a head
Above its leaves and its earthy bed,
With so many horns of plenty!’
The flow’rets were thick, which the clover crowned,
As the plumes in the helm of Hector,
And each had a cell that was deep and round;
Yet it would not impart, as the bee soon found,
One drop of its precious nectar.
She cast in her eye where the honey lay,
And her pipe she began to measure;
But she saw at once it was clear as day,
That it would not go down one half the way
To the place of the envied treasure.
Said she in a pet, ‘one thing I know,’
As she rose in haste and departed,
‘It is not those of the greatest show,
To whom for a favor ‘t is best to go,
Or that prove most generous-hearted!’
A fleecy flock came into the field,
And one of its members followed
The scent of the clover, till between
Her nibbling teeth its head was seen,
And then in a moment swallowed.
‘Ha, ha!’ said the Bee, as the clover died,
‘Her fortune’s smile was fickle!
And now I can get my wants supplied
By a humble flower with a rough outside,
And even a scale and prickle.’
Then she flew to one that by man and beast
Was shunned for its pointed bristle;
But it injured not the bee in the least;
And she filled her pocket, and had a feast
From the bloom of the purple Thistle.
The generous Thistle’s life was spared
In the home where the Bee first found her;
Till she grew so old she was hoary-haired,
And her snow-white locks with the silk compared,
As they shone where the sun beamed round her.
4. The Bee and the Child
by Hannah Flagg Gould
Come here, little Bee,
There are fresh flowers by me;
Come, and just let me see
How your honey is made!
‘I can’t, for I fear
That, for coming too nearby,
I should pay very dear,
So, I can’t—I’m afraid!’
O, feel no alarm;
Not a leg, nor an arm,
Nor a wing will I harm.
You may here sip your fill.
‘Pretty maid, then I’ll come
Close beside you and hum,
And you shall have some
Of the sweets I distil.’
Then my trust shall be free
As yours is in me,
And be sure, little Bee,
That you don’t use your sting!
‘Oh! no! no! — since I flew
From the cell where I grew,
None has known me to do
So ungrateful a thing!’
Then why thus supplied
With a sting, but to hide
And to keep it untried,
Out of sight, little Bee?
‘He, who gave me my sting
And my swift gauzy wing,
Bids me not harm a thing
That would not injure me!
5. On a Honey Bee
by Philip Freneau
Thou born to sip the lake or spring,
Or quaff the waters of the stream,
Why hither come on vagrant wing? —
Does Bacchus tempting seem—
Did he, for you, the glass prepare? —
Will I admit you to a share?
Did storms harass or foes perplex,
Did wasps or king-birds bring dismay—
Did wars distress, or labours vex,
Or did you miss your way? —
A better seat you could not take
Than on the margin of this lake.
Welcome! —I hail you to my glass:
All welcome, here, you find;
Here let the cloud of trouble pass,
Here, be all care resigned. —
This fluid never fails to please,
And drown the griefs of men or bees.
What forced you here, we cannot know,
And you will scarcely tell—
But cheery we would have you go
And bid a glad farewell:
On lighter wings we bid you fly,
Your dart will now all foes defy.
Yet take not oh! too deep a drink,
And in the ocean die;
Here bigger bees than you might sink,
Even bees full six feet high.
Like Pharaoh, then, you would be said
To perish in a sea of red.
Do as you please, your will is mine;
Enjoy it without fear—
And your grave will be this glass of wine,
Your epitaph—a tear—
Go, take your seat in Charon’s boat,
We’ll tell the hive, you died afloat.
6. Wild Honey
by Raymond Holden
Still in my fingers the stings
Still in my ears the sound
Of bees and their wings.
Still in my temples the pound
Of hatchet swings.
Still in the trees the sigh
Still from the hive of the sky
Darknesses swarming the trees
And among these
The Owl’s cry.
O, Heart, Heart, Heart!
Let me more easily
Lift hands and part
The hanging certainty
And strength of home
Whereto I come
From the enchanted bed
Of stranger Beauty, she who sleeps
Forever in the deeps
Of heart and head!
Still in my ears the sound
Of bees, in my heart the pain
Of one more passion found
And lost again—
Lost and gone with the bees
To swarm strange trees of lonely
Planets unseen from these,
Leaving me honey only
And a starless breeze.
7. Song of the Bees
by Hannah Flagg Gould
We watch for the light of the morn to break
And color the eastern sky
With its blended hues of saffron and lake,
Then say to each other, “Awake! awake!
For our winter’s honey is all to make,
And our bread for a long supply!”
Then, off we hie to the hill and the dell,
To the field, the meadow and bower.
In the columbine’s horn we love to dwell,
To dip in the lily with snow-white bell,
To search the balm in its odorous cell,
The mint and the rosemary-flower.
We seek the bloom of the eglantine,
Of the painted thistle and brier;
And follow the steps of the wandering vine,
Whether it trail on the earth, supine,
Or round the aspiring tree-top twine,
And reach for a state still higher.
As each, on the good of her sisters bent,
Is busy and cares for all;
We hope for an evening with hearts content,
For the winter of life without lament
That summer is gone with its hours misspent,
And the harvest is past recall!
8. The Song of the Bee
by Marian Douglas
Buzz! buzz! buzz!
This is the song of the bee.
His legs are of yellow;
A jolly, good fellow,
And yet a great worker is he.
In days that are sunny
He’s getting his honey;
In days that are cloudy
He’s making his wax:
On pinks and on lilies,
And gay daffodillies,
And columbine blossoms,
He levies a tax!
Buzz! buzz! buzz!
The sweet-smelling clover,
He, humming, hangs over;
The scent of the roses
Makes fragrant his wings:
He never gets lazy;
From thistle and daisy,
And weeds of the meadow,
Some treasure he brings.
Buzz! buzz! buzz!
From morning’s first light
Till the coming of night,
He’s singing and toiling
The summer day through.
Oh! we may get weary,
And think work is dreary;
‘Tis harder by far
To have nothing to do.
9. To the Bee Balm
by John Burroughs
Unmoved I saw you blooming,
Your crimson cap up looming
Above the jewel weed;
‘T is true I passed unheeding,
Unmindful of your pleading,
Until she gave you heed.
But when she paused and plucked you,
And in her bosom tucked you,
And filled her girlish hands,
New beauty filled your measure,
You shone a woodland treasure
Amid the floral clans.
Your martial look grew tender,
More winsome was your splendor
With her beside the stream;
Rare gift to charm she brought you,
With her own graces fraught you,
Retouched your glowing beam.
I soon forgot my trouting,
Repented of my flouting
Your brave and festive look;
I saw in you new meaning,
A nodding or a leaning
Beside the purling brook
Oh, day I long shall cherish,
Nor let one vision perish
That filled each sunny hour.
The phoebe’s mossy chamber,
The pool like liquid amber,
That mirrored maid and flower.
10. I taste a liquor never brewed
by Emily Dickinson
I taste a liquor never brewed,
From tankards scooped in pearl;
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an alcohol!
Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew,
Reeling, through endless summer days,
From inns of molten blue.
When landlords turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxglove’s door,
When butterflies renounce their drams,
I shall but drink the more!
Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,
And saints to windows run,
To see the little tippler
Leaning against the sun!
Final Thoughts on Bee Poems
Thank you for taking the time to read the honey bee poems that we provided you. We hope these were useful to you. You will be astonished to know that honey bees have to travel over hundreds of kilometers and touch over thousands of flowers to make a few ounces of honey.
It’s no wonder that many intelligent men and women have been inspired to research these fascinating creatures and write beautiful bee poems that celebrates their beauty and hard labor.
The bees in most of these bee poems represent force, luminosity, and communal strength. Because of their prominence in money and riches, bees are seen to be a positive omen. Bees are reported to have a credo of working hard and in unison.
We can only hope to one day be as hardworking and efficient as the honey bee. Take a couple more moves in that direction, at the very least. And these poems about bees will always be there to help you do just that.